In the Long Run

I locked the front door as I left my house about 20 minutes before I was due to be at work to teach a Pilates class. It was overcast, with a chilly breeze, and a temperature of about 6 degrees. Outside the garage, I punched in the code on the keypad to automatically open the door. Nothing happened. I tried again, and the door didn’t move. Even as I futilely pressed the other door’s code, I knew what was wrong. Oh no! It’s too cold, and the automatic opener won’t work. I remember this happening once before.

I ran back to the front door of the house, knowing full well that I had locked it, but I had to test it anyway. And I can’t use my door key either! I felt a little panicked as I recalled that about a week previous my front door knob had inexplicably ceased to work with my housekey. I was locked out.

My situation only worsened when I realized that my cell phone was in my purse, which I had left in the car earlier in the afternoon. I couldn’t call my husband for help, or even call to work to let them know I’d be late. I thought furiously for a solution. Does Chere (my friend around the block) have a key? No use, the doorknob isn’t working with a key anyway. Can she give me a ride? No, she’s not even home from work yet!..... Well, maybe I could run to work. No, I’m not dressed for that.

Just then, my neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Bad-Dogs, drove up into their driveway next door. I didn’t want to face the awful truth. Horrors! I’m going to have to ask them for help! Time is slipping away! I’ve said and thought some pretty mean things about my neighbors. Well, really more so about their dogs, but my negative feelings have tended to include them at times as well.

“Hi!” I called to them with false cheerfulness. “I’m locked out of my house, and I’ve got to be at work in a few minutes. Do you think I could use your phone?” This is so humbling…no, it’s downright humiliating!

Mrs. Bad-Dogs stared at me as though I were crazy, and for a long time, before she answered, “Uh, yeah…sure.” Then she and her husband turned, and walked into their house before I could wade over to them through the 2-foot snowdrifts separating our yards.

When I got to the front of their house, I could see through the storm door that the front door was ajar, and that one of the hounds from Hell, Randall, was in the entryway. He immediately began snarling and barking when he saw me. I hesitated, and Mrs. Bad-Dogs, who was already up the stairs from the front door landing, called down to me impatiently, “Just come in! Randall, be quiet.”

I am a dependable employee, and I knew people were counting on me to teach my class, so I tentatively sidled up the stairs past the rapacious Randall. I apologized, and explained my situation again. “I’m so sorry to intrude, but may I use your phone to call for a ride? I need to be at the Y in just a few minutes.” There’s no way I’m going to beg them for a ride, but I’m not too proud to accept one if they offer…

I guess I expected a sympathetic look, or words, but again, Mrs. Bad-Dogs just stared at me, and paused. Why is she looking at me like that? Is my request so outrageous? Does she know I badmouth her dogs, and hate me for it?! Come on, lady, I just want to get to work! Finally she pointed and curtly said, “The phone’s right there.”

I called my friend Marcia, who readily agreed to take me to work. I quickly thanked my neighbor for letting me use her phone, and as I ran down the stairs and out of the house, I think I heard her mutter an insincere “No problem.”

Later that evening, I thought about the incident, and mused on what I would have done if the tables had been turned, and Mrs. Bad-Dogs had come to me for help. I do think I would have offered her a ride, and I was a little miffed and resentful that she didn’t do that for me. I guess I’m like a dog that bites the hand that feeds it.

Posted by Cyppy at 4:38 PM